


I Slept With a Dead Guy and All I Got was a Certified Gold 8tracks Playlist and a Hoodie

by a1ieb



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: F/F, Ghosts, Haunting, It's not as sad as it seems, M/M, Multi, Murder, SEVERAL GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SUICIDE PLEASE BE CAREFUL KIDS, Suicide, Trans Male Character, Trans Michael Mell, Trans Rich Goranski, also fair warning it almost feels like theyre blaming the dead person for committing suicide, i forgot to add this tag but it's not too important atm, i'll add more characters and relationships as they happen, its not edited at all and i published it as soon as it was done w no reads so its prob ably shit, rated teen for language and violence, suicide is bad kids ily and ur emotions r valid but also u deserve 2 exist, this is basically my "how would i do it" fic but i ended up making a plot about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a1ieb/pseuds/a1ieb
Summary: Michael died, but he can't remember how. And apparently, no one else knows either.





	1. #goneandnever

**Author's Note:**

> National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Phone Number  
> 1-800-273-8255  
> be safe kids, this fic is literally depression trash

Death wasn't so bad. Suicide was your method of choice. It wasn’t the way you thought it would be based on movies, but it didn’t hurt. Well, your particular method didn’t. Overdosing on sleeping pills and slipping away into a hot bath with candles burning and Jon Bellion’s “80’s Films” playing loud enough to ripple the water around you. What a way to go.

You could have picked a better song. It was on some Spotify playlist a girl from Home Ec showed you, and it wasn’t exactly mood appropriate. Having been born at the end of the 90’s, you have no reason to relate to all of the nostalgia bullshit other people go through. The 2000’s were dope. They brought around YouTube poops. Abridged anime, and Homestuck, rest its soul. You also met some cool people, like…

**JEREMY HEERE.** As soon as you think of him, your head starts spinning and everything goes black, and suddenly you’re standing in a messy teenage boy’s bedroom. Geez, you have to stop doing that. This whole ghost-teleporting thing will get annoying eventually.

The room is dark, lights off and the moon shining through the cool glass of the window as you float slightly above the scene, not entirely immerged in it. Jeremy is asleep, his long, scrawny limbs sprawled out on top of himself like a tangle of headphone wires, hidden in the layers of your too-big red hoodie. There’s a wet spot of drool below his mouth, and you can’t help but smile, then frown.

_Why did you leave this?_

Mario Kart 64 is on, and there are two controllers plugged in. You have a sneaking suspicion that Player 1 has been getting last place for a while now.

Testing your corporeality, you pick up the first remote. Strange, it doesn’t pass through your hand, and it fits as well as it did in life. Sitting on your favorite beanbag chair, you almost forget that your real body is buried somewhere under the name of a girl who never existed. Jeremy isn’t waking anytime soon and you’ve got nothing better to do for the rest of eternity, so you hit the start. Toad, and Yoshi for sleeping beauty. You place the remote beside his hand and select Bowser’s Castle, remembering days when you would come over when his parents were fighting and you would slip the remote between his fingers and play for hours until you couldn’t hear anything but laughter and the sound of “don'tyoufuckingdarehitmewiththatshellyoupieceofshitmICHAEL!”

You play for Death knows how long. This felt so safe, so soft, so light. Nothing could take this away from you, no one could take this away from you.

"Ho. Ly. SHIT." Jeremy's words slur out, sucking in saliva.

You jolt out of your chair with way too much energy and smash through the wall, except you don't, because you don't have a body, and your face braces for an impact that won't happen. You hold your breath, sure he can see you, hear you, but the boy only rubs his eyes and shifts his gaze around the room. He reaches for his phone, then pauses, frowning.

"No, it couldn't be," He addresses his hand. "Because it's super unlikely." "Well, you're not a ghost, you're a computer! That's entirely different." "Shut up!"

Michael frowned like he had just experienced the world's end. Why was the Squip back and talking to him?

"Because Michael jumped out of a third story window at the Halloween party. He's gone."

Gone. He's Gone. Gone.

"Why do you care? Fine, if you'll shut up about it, I'll..." His eyes widened in some realization, just as Michael realized the Squip probably had another reason for being so interested in this, and Jeremy leaped out of bed and almost slammed into the screen, unpausing the race to see the happy smiling racers as they were passed up by npcs. "I-I'll call the others."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i cant build suspense for shit  
> im a1ieb everywhere  
> National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Phone Number  
> 1-800-273-8255


	2. Go Big or Go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuckin, IDK man.

The autumn air was crisp. Crisp in the way only cool October air could be, but also, more. Crisp with the faltering breath of nine, eight friends about to do something very strange.

It took forever to find his grave. Partially because someone had come here during the summer and scratched the name out. 

No one was really sure how Michael’s family would feel about that, but they were all sure they probably didn’t care about how his family felt.

They sat in a circle with two open spaces. One, for the cold hateful rock that sat over the head of someone the world had stolen from them far too soon, and the other, for a little computer the size of a grey pill. Or what was left of it. 

Besides those two places, they sat, clockwise, Jeremy, Brooke, Christine, Jenna, Chloe, an open space, Jake, and finally Rich, on the other side of the gravestone. There were no real decisions about how they should sit, everyone just instinctively picked a spot.

Christine took a ouija board out of her backpack. Jake, and the empty space beside him, quietly commented on how stupid this felt. Rich quietly retorted his comment, asking for alternative options. They said nothing.

Before they started, Christine reminded them of the rules they had discussed earlier. No inviting any spirits into the physical realm, no inviting any spirits into your bodies, and if anything goes bad, we immediately, politely, end the session. There was a wave of silent, nodding understanding around the circle.

Jeremy gently laid a red hoodie over the center of the circle, and Christine placed the board on top of it. They all extended their hands, and-

-“We would like to speak to the ghost of Michael Mell.” It rippled throughout Michael’s skull -or, ghost skull- in a shock of searing, inexplicable pain. His vision went black, and he felt hot, and then cold, and all at once he was lying on frosty, hard ground, staring at the gravestone with the name scratched out. Upon sitting up, he saw a circle of people he once knew, and the kind of cardboard ouija boards you only see in movies where they forget to say goodbye to the ghost and it goes on to kill the dad and several siblings, and then blame the little girl who happens to be able to see ghosts.

Except Michael wasn’t here to kill anyone. He looked around the circle of sleep-deprived teenagers, and felt his eyelids grow heavy like a leaf under the pressure of a minutes worth of building rain water.

“Jeremy! It’s so good to-” Right, Can’t touch. Okay, how does this work? He looked at board. Maybe if he just…

Michael pushed the planchette to the “M” on the board. Jake jumped back in shock, and Michael felt a pang of pain shoot through his skull. He placed his hands back, and the pain was gone. That’s weird.

“Michael, is that you?”

He grinned now, pushing the plastic piece toward the “Yes.”

“Michael, we want to know why you have come back from the grave. What happened to you?”

Michael frowned, floating above them for a moment. What DID happen? His nose twitched, as he felt the change of breeze, and he moved the planchette over “I” “D” “K”. 

Suddenly, the breeze picked up. He felt another pang in his skull. The planchette moved rapidly, repeating those three letters.

“What the fu-” Michael muttered to himself, and he suddenly lost consciousness. Which is unusual for someone who can’t sleep.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, find me everywhere as @a1ieb.  
> Also, I wrote another fic for Captain Underpants. Check it out. Please.


End file.
